The Raven's Gift - Don Rearden [78]
He knelt down and put his cold hand to the dead man’s warm forehead. With all the soot and dirt, the starved, tight skin of his face, he couldn’t tell if the man was Carl, but it didn’t matter. In his heart it was his old friend, stretched out dead in the snow, and he understood a little more about what a man would do to survive.
PART III
The
Raven’s
Gift
“You will be very lonely by yourself,” said Raven. “I will make you a companion.” He then went to a spot some distance from where he had made many animals, and looking now and then at Man, made an image very much like him. Then he fastened a lot of fine water grass on the back of the head for hair … waved his wings over it as before and a beautiful young woman arose and stood beside Man.
—YUP’IK CREATION STORY, RECORDED BY EDWARD NELSON, 1899
28
Red, as he insisted on being called, talked them into cooking up one of the canned chickens. He seemed hesitant to share the news John wanted. “I got all the spices. It’ll be delicious,” he said.
John didn’t argue.
The bone-thin man opened up the top of the can, thawed the chicken, can and all, in a pot of water, and began preparing the meal. The girl and the old woman rested on the bed, and John sat quietly, just watching. It felt good to be somewhere safe and warm.
John pointed to the computer. “That work?”
“You mean is it connected to the world wide weird? No. If you need it to type a letter or something like that, it will work like a charm. With my batteries and the mills, and the solar panels I have on the roof of the old house, I’ve got plenty of juice. Everything but a hot shower. Totally off the grid.”
He pulled out the chicken and dropped it on a cutting board. Then he dumped the juice from the can into a pot. John was glad to see this. He didn’t want any part of the canned chicken going to waste.
Red glanced toward the bed. He leaned over to John and whispered, “You look like you could use a pick-me-up?” He opened a cupboard and pulled a nearly empty bottle of gin out from behind some pots. He poured a finger’s worth into two small glasses and handed John one.
“To the last of the real people,” he said, gesturing to the women on the bed.
They brought the glasses together with a soft clink and John took a small mouthful and just let it burn. The bitter taste of pine needles and juniper berries reminded him of the mountains and the old woman’s tundra tea. Not his usual choice for a drink, but under the circumstances, he’d drink cooking wine.
He swallowed and held the glass to his nose and inhaled deeply.
“Thanks. I needed this,” John said.
“I wish I could tell you there’s more where that came from, but what you see here is the last of it. I should have learned how to make blueberry wine or something. Too late for that now, I guess.”
He cut the chicken and then poured some rice and water into one pot, and in another dropped the meat in and dumped curry powder, dried lemongrass, and some other spices. “I won’t make it too spicy,” he said. “Yup’iks tend not to like stuff that’s too hot. Lukewarm and bland is the standard fare. That or fermented. Which I suppose is spice all its own.”
He covered the pot and turned a chair backward and straddled it. Then he stood up and turned the chair around and sat down in it. Then he stood up again, took the bottle back out, and poured the last of the gin.
“Your first question is where is the cavalry, right? Why didn’t anyone come for us?”
John nodded. “Something like that,” he said.
“First-year or second-year teacher in the Bush?”
“First. Going on a second, I guess.”
Red nodded and took a sip. He stopped and watched the surveillance monitor.
“Let me warn you that I am a certified conspiracy nut, so take what you will from what I’m about to tell you. Won’t say I saw this shitstorm coming, but as you can see with your own two eyes, I was as prepared as anyone could ever hope to be. Didn’t expect the government to do anything to help me. Didn’t want the government to help me. So naturally, I’m suspicious. I’m paranoid. I’m